


Spill the Beans

by lazugod



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Campaign 2 (Critical Role), Gen, Secrets, beans, s2e120
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:26:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28149063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazugod/pseuds/lazugod
Summary: Secrets. Spilled, held, realized, ruined.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 68





	1. Spill the Beans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caleb reveals his secret to Lucien. Immediately after S2E120.

It took a few cold, wet minutes for the Mighty Nein to dig themselves out of the igloo that Lucien had collapsed on top of them. A few, like Beau and Caduceus and Yasha, just curled right back into their sleeping bags. Veth and Fjord began setting up a campfire and preparing meats to cook.

They kept a watchful eye towards the Tomb Takers, who were going through similar morning rituals a little ways up the ridge.

Caleb should have slept in. He wished to sleep, he sorely needed those last few hours to refill his arcane mojo. But in the sudden chill and the gaze of uneasy allies, without the comfort of his dome, he just couldn’t find rest.

He’d overheard. Beau and Fjord had done their damndest to put the charm on, keep Lucien cool while still holding things close to the chest.

And something felt so… familiar.

* * *

Lucien was a little surprised to see the red-haired human come walking up to him. Though not visibly injured, the stranger seemed exhausted. Wasn’t that why their group wanted rest, to be prepared for a fight? Why approach him when clearly tapped out? Why not wait? Lucien’s tail lazed over the snow bank behind him as he pondered.

Finally cresting the hill, Caleb gave a small sleepy smile and stuck his hand out.

“Caleb Widogast. I’ll bother the others so they’ll give you their names in a little bit, but you can call me Caleb.”

Puzzled, Lucien shook his hand. “That’s mighty kind of you, Mister Widogast. Took you long enough.”

“Ah, well, you see, we did not trust you.”

Lucien chuckled. “Oh, somethin’ tells me that hasn’t changed.”

Caleb sat down beside the tiefling. When suddenly a small warm puff of fire appeared in Caleb’s hands, Lucien didn’t flinch, but he did frown.

“You know, there’s a secret that I haven’t been able to stop thinking of. All of us in the Nein know this secret, and I think we’ve all been trying our utmost to not let you know about it.”

Caleb cupped the fire in his hands, shivering a little. “But maybe, it is good to share a secret now and then, no?”

“Oh I’m all ears.” Lucien said.

For a few moments, Caleb just looked at his fire. Then he took a deep breath, and said:

“I saw you naked, with eggs and beans smeared on your dangly bits, running around and shouting like a madman in Zadash.”

* * *

Lucien froze. This was… not the secret he’d been expecting.

“You saw me?... Oh, you mean your friend? The speck?”

Caleb’s sleep-deprived smile got even more loopy. “His name was Molly and he was a glorious disaster.”

Lucien snorted in disgust. “Well, that wasn’t me. I do wish you’d realize that.”

“Oh, I do, I do,” Caleb said. “You are such a, ah, focused individual. Ambitious. I’m sure you don’t have the time to make a fool of yourself and your genitals. I murdered my parents.”

The whiplash here was driving Lucien nuts - even more so due to Caleb’s sleepily casual demeanor. He’d murdered who?! “I’m not sure I heard you right,” he managed to say.

“I murdered my parents. I burned them in their home with my fire. Ah, I suppose I should say I was brainwashed by a teacher to do it. But still, it was not a good thing that I did.”

“Hm. Well, if you thought that would sound threatening…”

“Oh, no threat. Secrets. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Caleb slouched back into the snow bank, relaxing. He could hear Veth arguing about something in the distance. He wasn’t sure how she would have reacted to his confession right now — would she feel pride in Caleb opening up, even to a likely villain?

“I murdered them and was locked up and then ran away. In hiding. And I held onto that, the knowledge of what I’d done, so tightly. I was so afraid that my teacher would come after me. I’m still afraid of him.”

He nodded down the hill. “Even them, even my friends, I did not tell all of them for so long. Until I was forced to, really. And it ate at me for so long.”

It clicked in Lucien’s head. “Aha, you want me to tell you all my deep dark secrets because you think it’ll be better for me.”

“No. Well, yes, it would be fine for you to spill your beans for all of us, we’d all love to hear,” Caleb said. “But no, that’s not what… mmm. I’m a little tired, a little out of it.”

“I’ve noticed,” Lucien agreed.

“So maybe this won’t make sense. But, that joke from earlier. Ah, not the dangly bits part. But we do have a secret reason to not trust you.”

Caleb turned, looking at Lucien with more lucidity than before. “Sure, you look like our old friend, and you killed our employer, and do weird things with eyes and you all talk at once and hell, you came back from the dead. And all of that is quite unusual. But really it isn’t more unusual than any of us in our group. It isn’t more unusual than me. I murdered my parents and make towers from nothing.”

“But none of that is why we’re afraid of you. It’s all because of this thing we in the Mighty Nein don’t want to tell you, because we think you’ll kill us as quickly and as easily as you killed DeRogna. You are an ambitious devil. Driven. And we don’t want to say out loud that our secret puts us right in your path, standing in the way of whatever it is you think you’re driving towards.”

The fire disappeared from Caleb’s hands, and Lucien was surprised at how much he missed the tiny bit of warmth. Caleb stood, stretching tiredly, then turned back.

“That is why we have been so awkward. That is why I have been so awkward. Secrets, they do things to your head. I know this from experience.”

“You could just tell me.” Lucien grinned.

Caleb hesitated. It wasn’t clear if he was seriously considering it, or just trying to find more diplomatic words to refuse. But he stood there, mouth open and stuttering for a moment.

“We’re going to be going to Aeor together. I think what I mean to say is patience. Please be patient with us. Even, and it might be weird to ask for patience if it’s the case, but even if we end up butting heads over the thing we don’t want to say. Even if, well, you want to do the things you want to do, and we feel an obligation to get in the way.”

“Because as awkward as it is to start a friendship from such a deficit of trust… by the gods do we want to. Really, building trust is the only thing that comes natural to us. So patience, please.”

And with that, Caleb shrugged, and headed down the hill back to his compatriots.

Lucien’s tail coiled and uncoiled, like a fist. His mind raced, wondering furiously, staring at the back of the departing wizard.

Then slowly, silently, slyly, with a sigh of resignation, he brought his hand down to his waistband, and lifted it up a little. Just so he could check.

Nope. No beans spilled there. Lucien snapped his pants back with relief.


	2. Walls of Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Essek can’t hide his instincts. Some time after S2E120.

_ Still no sign of Cognouza. Damn! _

Technically, Essek’s office should have been impressive. While most housing in the camp was rough leather tents straight from the back end of Asarius, Essek had constructed his own quarters. A melding of light quartz crystals onto magically extruded ice, shear and shiny, made his walls the most insulated in the camp.

But it was small, and cramped. Essek perched, hovering over the cot that doubled as a chair for the desk before him. Maps and worker rosters and equipment lists threatened to crowd out his own paperwork - research detailing the history of Aeor and its various wards.

One name stood out, mocking him.

_ Cognouza! Where is it? Where did it go? _

A sudden sound shook Essek from his pages. A voice, sweet and bubbly.

“Essek! We’re finally heeeeeeere!”

* * *

Only Jester and Caduceus could spare the time to visit him. Beau and Yasha were off, searching for any unlikely flowers they might find along the more gardenlike ruins. Caleb wanted to come, but he and the others had to keep their tenuous allies busy…

“So he used to be your friend until he died?” Essek was still trying to understand.

Jester nodded, and Caduceus waxed. “Most people stop being a friend after they die,” he offered.

“I’m not sure the Bright Queen would agree,” Essek said. “Nevertheless, you think this Lucien is planning something?”

“Yes, and it’s going to be very very bad. Like, world-ending bad. And it’s kinda,” Jester squeaked, “kinda hard to know how far along he is? Like, we know he’s got a bunch of these big blue things, threshold crests, and we sort of helped him get one or two of them.”

“I know a bit about how the crests were used. They aided in planar travel.” Essek sighed. “Do you think your friend wants to go somewhere? What do you think his goal is?”

Strangely, Jester seemed to retreat from babbling, her tail unwrapping to hide behind her leg. “We think… maybe he wants to summon something.”

“Something?”

“Well, it’s hard to know.” Jester peered around the small room. “It’s bad, whatever it is.”

Essek leaned in. “I see. Well, if we don’t know, it may be difficult to hinder him. He might not even try to summon it on Eiselcross.”

Jester’s head snapped back, her eyes wide. “Oh, he’s definitely going to try and do it here!”

“Why do you say that?”

Jester paused. “Oh… reasons…”

At this point Caduceus shook his head. “This is ridiculous,” he said. “We really shouldn’t be beating around the bush with something this dangerous.”

He turned to Essek, ignoring Jester’s sudden panicked look. “It’s a part of the city, a ward that managed to run off into the Astral Sea to escape destruction. He wants to return it here, and loot it for forgotten knowledge.”

“But through frankly bizarre circumstances, we’ve seen it. We’ve seen this floating city. And it is hungry, and malevolent. I’d hardly call it a city anymore, it has become something so much worse.”

There was a sinking feeling in Essek’s stomach. “Do you happen to know which ward it was?”

Jester and Caduceus shared a look. “We heard it was called Cognouza. Home of the Somnovum. Really powerful dudes,” Jester said quietly.

Caduceus continued. “For full disclosure, the rest of the Nein didn’t want to share these specifics with you. They were worried you might be as tempted to bring back the city as Lucien is. But I think we can agree that, after our last conversation, there really should be more trust between all of us.” He leaned on his staff and smiled. “So that’s what we’re up against.”

* * *

_ The firbolg is right, I am tempted! _

_ Right? It’s Cognouza. The most powerful mages in Aeor. The whole reason I came up here, baring winter sun and winter cold. Why shouldn’t I try to bring it back? _

_ So, how do I convince them? Or is it better to distract them? _

_ Jester seemed a little frightened, saying its name. I don’t think I’ll be able to sway her. _

_ It’s a shame Caleb isn’t here - he could be talked into seeing the potential. Surely, even if the ward has gone feral, it must hold some magics intact. He could be shown how using those magics against his Assembly is invaluable. _

_ What do I do about these two, though? Jester is clearly too set, and Caduceus can’t be rushed. But perhaps, if I send them on a wild goose chase…  _

_ …wait, what am I doing?... _

_ Wait no no no no no. No! _

Essek stopped hovering, slumping down into his cot.

_ I’m doing it again! Trying to manipulate them! This is exactly what they were worried about, and I played right into their…  _

_ No. That’s not how to think about this. It wasn’t a trap. They were just being honest. _

_ And they want me to be honest. _

In a heartbeat, Essek went full panic.

_ THEY WANT ME TO BE HONEST?! What on Exandria do I even say? _

* * *

Watching Essek slump back with a guilty panic spread over his face made Jester’s heart break. Not just because it confirmed her fears, but… he looked so sad.

Caduceus just waited, smiling a smile full of intent.

“I think,” Essek slowly picked himself back up and began hovering again. “I think it may have been a mistake to bring this to me.”

“Nonsense,” Caduceus said. “Even if you don’t accompany us on our task, just the slightest bit of information would be a wonderful help.”

Essek shook his head. “You don’t understand.” He touched a map on his desk, marked with colored labels, converging. “Everyone is searching for missing districts, anything unaccounted for. And Cognouza, it’s the motherload.”

Jester hesitantly asked the question. “So, okay, then, you would want to help Lucien instead?”

“I…” Essek couldn’t look at either of them. “My first instinct was to trick you both, get you out of the way. So I could get to Cognouza first.”

Silence hung in the air. Cold, even through the thick insulated walls.

“And your second instinct?” There was just the tiniest chill to Caduceus’ voice.

Essek really didn’t know. What was it Jester had said, a world-ending threat? That’s not something to risk, no matter the reward. And the Mighty Nein would know world-ending threats if they saw them. They’d battled a demon that served a betrayer god! And won! They’d faced off an ancient dragon! They’d slaughtered a mutant that turned an entire village to stone, and then turned around and restored them all back to…

His head shot up. “Can it be healed?”

“What?”

“Can Cognouza be healed?”

“I dunno,” Jester said. “I mean, it was really scary in our vision. There weren’t people anymore, it was just shifting roads and screams.”

Essek looked to Caduceus, who scratched his beard. “I think it’s unlikely. Even the Wildmother couldn’t get a sense of the place. The whole thing is unnatural.”

“But you can’t rule out that it could be cured of whatever its problem is,” Essek said.

Cad sighed. “I suppose not. Mind you, we’re lucky to have even seen it. I doubt it would be possible to research what made it go all hungry, and I definitely doubt it matters to Lucien.”

Essek straightened up, and began sorting through the books on his desk. “But there’s still hope.”

Jester and Caduceus looked uneasily towards each other.

“Here’s what I can promise you,” Essek said. “I will help you stop Lucien. Anything you ask, though I may be a little tied up with the Dynasty expedition.”

“Once that is done, and you can choose whether you wish to be a part of this, but once it is done, I am going to dedicate my time fully towards determining how to fix Cognouza. From afar, of course, but with the aim of neutralizing it, either fully or just enough to make it safe to summon back.”

Essek looked up at the two. “Because I have to have hope that my work here will be worth it. That there are secrets worth revealing, that there is ever the step beyond to seek.”

_ Because I very much don’t want to look back. _


	3. Fellow Member

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trent knew immediately, of course. Immediately after S2E114.

Trent knew immediately, of course.

He kept close tabs on the rest of the Assembly, through a series of baubles tucked away in his most secret of pockets. Their tiniest murmur, their tiniest shift told him when a particular member left Rexxentrum, or when they announced their Assemblymembers’ presence at Balenpost.

And a small cracking sound told him the moment Vess died.

Trent stopped what he was doing, setting a small book aside. He stared out a window into the twilight streets of the Candles, well lit to spite the winter’s gloom.

Could it be? Was his pupil that ambitious, that eager to send a message that none of the Cerberus Assembly were safe? That Ikathon himself wasn’t safe? Or was this a true accident, yet another failure of his pupil to act even as a simple bodyguard?

He picked his book up and continued reading. No need to scry tonight; scrying was such a  _ blunt _ object. This curious death should be investigated with care.

* * *

The door to the Invulnerable Vagrant swung open with brusque confidence, leaving the bell to chime a few seconds longer than normal. Most of the Pumats were in the back, assisting in a particularly obtuse set of enchantments with their prime form, so only one Pumat was left to staff the front. He turned, feather duster in hand, to greet his visitor.

It was a young man, large and stocky, with dark hair and an intent look. Something about his garb was familiar, but it took a minute for Pumat to remember the burgundy uniforms he’d occasionally seen flocking around a particular associate from the Assembly:

A Volstrucker.

“Well hello and welcome! You must be one of Mister Ikathon’s students, if I am not mistaken. Is there anything you need on this fine morning?”

Eodwulf stood in slight shock, staring at the second firbolg he’d seen in his life. Was it coincidence…?

“I have a few questions for you, firbolg.”

Pumat chuckled. The Volstrucker was trying to be intimidating, of course, but his face betrayed an amusing amount of surprise. “Oh certainly, ask away.”

“Did the Archmage of Antiquities visit you recently?”

“You mean Vess? Sure, she was here about a week ago with some fellas known as the Mighty Nein. Real great folk they are. I think they were all going on a trip together, and she had me put together a custom order for her real quick.”

Eodwulf frowned. Maybe it wasn't coincidence. “Did DeRogna seem to be preparing for any unusual mortal dangers? Did she seem afraid of something?”

“Oh, the order wasn’t for herself. She just, uh, insisted on speeding up the process, if you know what I mean.”

The Volstrucker shook his head. “I’m less interested in this order you speak of, and more in DeRogna herself.”

“I don’t think so,” Pumat mused. “For someone who travels around a lot, she’s never come across as someone who scares easily. But, respectfully, we run a simple shop, so there’s really no reason to be scared in here.”

“I see.” Eodwulf turned, examining the various shiny objects on display. “Did DeRogna have any outstanding orders, other than the one you mentioned.”

“Well, that’s the kind of thing I normally keep between myself and the customer, see.” Pumat grinned. “But since you’re one of Mister Ikathon’s folks, I suppose I can tell you. Ah, no, she didn’t have anything more outstanding.”

“That’s good. It would be unfortunate for your time to be put to waste.”

With that, the large Volstrucker strode out of the shop, leaving behind a confused firbolg with a sudden nervous chill down their spine.

* * *

Shady Creek Run was not on Astrid’s bucket list of places to visit. Too far north, too cold, too destitute, too much the thin criminal membrane of a leaky Empire. Faces leered as she passed the mud-choked streets. Then fewer faces, out in the wooded outskirts, and then none at all as nature overtook her path, dirty snow underfoot and a view of rough mountains in the distance.

She shuddered.  _ What had Bren been doing in a shithole like this? _

Astrid cast a spell, again, letting a dull blue glow guide her further down the sodden road. A lone cart passed her, passengers giving shrouded glares that she ignored. Then nothing, silence, save her own footsteps and a slow but unkind wind.

Finally the glow turned from the road, up to a small clearing of patchy crabgrass. A stick stuck from the ground, facing an unkempt dirt hole with a small puddle forming in its center.

Astrid stared.

_ What had Bren done? _

She held out her arms and got to work, casting more spells. Her eyes flashed with a starry twinkle. Yes, Bren had been here recently. Yes, the body that laid here was gone. No, it wasn’t DeRogna - the archmage hadn’t even been here. It was just some unfamiliar tiefling.

The glow faded. The spells went cold. Astrid carefully unfolded her bag, pulled out chalk, and began a circle to bring herself home. Trent’s orders were satisfied, it was clear this place had nothing to do with DeRogna. Whatever his sudden obsession with the Lady was, this place held no part of that secret.

But, as the ritual finished and she stepped into the circle, the question still burned in Astrid’s unsatisfied mind.

_ Who had Bren brought back? _


	4. Empty Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final interrogation. Some time after S2E120.

Caduceus stared down at the body of Lady Vess DeRogna, Archmage of Antiquities of the Cerberus Assembly. Faint greying frosted her elven features - Gentle Repose had helped, but it was clearly near the end of its usefulness. Blood still caked around her revealed tattoos. Her body, desecrated with magic.

Her mind, desecrated with interrogations.

It felt wrong. It  _ was _ wrong. The firbolg shuddered.

“Ducey, you alright?” Beau put a hand on his shoulder. They stood in front of a long couch; Caduceus’ quarters, though smaller than the library, let them carry out their ritual unnoticed by their guests downstairs, the Tomb Takers.

At least, they hoped they were unnoticed.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Caduceus responded. “This really isn’t natural, is all. And there’s a fair chance tonight is our last shot at this, before her body goes the way it’s supposed to.”

“ _ Ja _ , well, when opportunity knocks.” Caleb finished arraying candles in a curve around the couch, then walked back to face the others. “You did promise me a question this time.”

A smile. “Yes I did, Mister Caleb. In fact, why don’t you go first?”

With that, Caduceus leaned forward, staff tilting. The sitting room darkened, the tiny flames surrounding them blooming and casting deep shadows on the cupboards and stained glass. The two humans began to squint, closely watching the dead elf before them as Caduceus’ voice rumbled a low but delicate chant.

Necrotic will flowed through him, a strange magical taste not unlike rotten eggs. But not like rotten eggs, either. More like, the eggshells themselves. It was a sensation of pretend, of artifice, of wringing out dry sponge and calling it the ocean. He’d told them, she wasn’t in there. Just flesh, pretending to have memories, pretending to know the way a jaw worked or how a mind ticked.

Finally, there came the dreadful gasp. Caduceus nodded, and Caleb whispered his question, the tall firbolg repeating his words.

* * *

“Would the Assembly tolerate the removal of Trent Ikathon?”

A bone-chilling exhale.  _ “Not tolerate. Celebrate in private. Ikathon has fingers in too much, too important.” _

Brief pleading. Then: “What makes Ikathon important?”

_ “Discipline. Control. Assembly built of past. He focus... all on future.” _

A sigh. More confidently: “You said the book was wasted on others. What did Lucien seek from the book?”

_ “Not... knowledge. A home. Their… un… clouded…”  _ The voice drifted off.

Nervous discussion. A rushed question. “How old is Lucien?”

_ “Un… know… n…” _

The final attempt. “We saw Cognouza ruined, screaming. Can it be fixed?”

_ “…empty…” _

* * *

Beau immediately sprang to one of the other chairs, pulling out a notebook and frantically scribbling down each detail. Caleb rubbed his eyes, blinking for a moment, then began to put his amber necklace on the floor. “ _ Scheisse _ . I guess that is it,” he said.

Caduceus groaned as the lights rose back up. “Yeah, sorry friend. It had to be that way. She was just…”

_ “…empty…” _

* * *

All three jumped. The raspy voice, just as dreadful as before, was now louder and forceful. And, obviously, not supposed to happen.

Their eyes locked on the body as they watched the jaw move, a sharp broken motion. Then, with painful slowness, it moved again, more loosely. A blood-drenched hair rose, as though an invisible breeze had come through.

Then one of Vess’ fingers twitched, and shock gave way to panic. “It’s alive, it’s alive, IT’S ALIVE!” screamed Beau. “Cad, do something!”

A wave burst out from his staff, green and divine. The head of DeRogna, staring in agony, turned away… for a second, then turned back. The sickening eggshell stench of undead that seemed to fill every part of Caduceus’ nose changed, as more of her body continued to move.

Out of the corner of his eye, Caduceus saw a flicker emerge in the wizard’s hands, and a clattering told him Beau had dropped her book to go find her staff.

“…empty…”

DeRogna’s body struggled, then rose to its feet in a painfully twisted motion. Its arm stuck out, its hand still locked in a clawlike grasp that softened, almost relaxing, until only a single finger pointed out. Caleb’s firebolt shot out at the hand, impacting and lighting the sleeve on fire, but the body didn’t seem to notice.

“…empty…”

“WAIT!” Beauregard shouted. “Shit! Hold on, just wait!”

The sound of fluttering pages confused Caduceus mightily - why had Beau picked the book back up? He gripped his staff tight, preparing a more direct spell.

“Wait! Remember what Molly said, what he said his first words were?”

“No,” said Caduceus flatly.

Beau pointed to a page. “His initials - M T! Because he was really saying…”

“…empty…”

Caduceus stared up at the body of Lady Vess DeRogna, Archmage of Antiquities of the Cerberus Assembly. No, not her body. The greying remained, the hardened blood still flaked on her tattoos, but there was a golden sheen in her eyes. And that stench hadn’t just changed, it had gone away.

And as the trio realized they were staring at a real living creature, Vess’ hands reached down to grip the arms of the sofa. She sat, cautiously, almost relearning the movement.

“Empty?”, she asked.


	5. One Question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dairon hears a scream. Some time after S2E99.

It was a difficult and delicate dance, staying hidden in the heart of Rosohna. Unaccustomed to ceaseless night, wary of Kryn customs and their wartime fears, Dairon tread lightly.

They spent nearly all of their time disguised, in a drow visage they had refined upon entering the city. They sought out a children’s school from one of the lower dens, watching from afar for a day to observe which mannerisms were taught at a young age. They stole supplies from a goblin shop along the outer district, and quickly learned that Rosohna’s unchanging sky meant its citizens were less familiar with the sound of high wind or rain. Every technique the Expositor knew on how to be silent became that much more vital.

Dairon began to build an understanding of the dens of the Dynasty, taking great interest in both Den Kryn’s leadership and Den Thelyss’ worship. Their first few days, they interviewed hundreds around the streets, only asking a single question of any particular individual so as to avoid suspicion. Then, with the power structures and geography solidifying in their notes, they frequented the edge of the Lucid Bastion to tail people of interest.

That’s where they first saw Essek.

* * *

A large purple beetle crawled across Dairon’s steady arm. They held a small scope, unmoving, undistracted.

A large house sprawled before her, three towers of clay and gray brick nestled in the Firmaments district. It neighbored a public garden, and it was here they hid behind some squat bushes, peeking through the scope into the reclusive life of the Shadowhand.

He was unlike the other figures the Queen surrounded herself with, Dairon noted. Most contended to do their business around the Lucid Bastion. But Essek, in the rare moments he left his home, seemed to skulk around almost as much as the Expositor did. From the prisons in the Shadowshire to the learned halls nearby in the Firmaments to odd material shops in the Gallimaufry, it was impossible to predict where he’d float next.

Right now, they could see him through a window most of the way up one of the towers, sitting at a small desk. Dairon didn’t recognize half the arcane motions he usually made, but his current scrying spell was unmistakable. They saw the barest silvery glint in his eyes, and saw his hand move, writing something onto a page.

Then Dairon saw nothing, as the beetle chose this moment to climb down and cover the lens of their scope. They shook it off, then turned their gaze back.

To their surprise, Essek was already gone.

* * *

One question per individual. Sometimes even one was a risk.

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

The tall drow guard looked down at the figure before her, a scruffier dark elf with a curious seedy look in their eyes. She frowned. “What business do you have at the Dungeons of Penance?”

“Oh, I have no business inside.”

The guard tapped the butt of her spear on the ground. “Then I advise you to take a good step back. Those without proper business are not welcome.”

The seedy drow grinned, a small blue earring shaking with their head. “I know, I know. But if you could help me with something, please?”

“Perhaps you didn’t hear.” Her voice raised a notch.

“No, it’s okay. I’m a writer, you see,” they said, holding up a notebook. “I’m working on a short story, an adventure of sorts.”

“I am here to defend, not to chat. Step back now.”

The drow obliged, scooting back with hands raised in bemused defeat. “Please, just bear with me. It would help my writing immensely if you could answer me just a single question.”

The guard looked across the ironwrought entranceway to their fellow guard, who was studiously scanning the crowd. She sighed.

“Just one question, then. What is it?”

“How often are the prisoners brought in already screaming?”

* * *

Dairon was shocked to be staring at the Shadowhand himself, as Nott opened the door to the Mighty Nein’s house. But they didn’t let that shock show, and the Expositor wasted no time introducing themselves in their role as a hired caretaker.

Essek introduced himself in kind and then whisked Beauregard and her friends away, off to cold tundras and possible dragons. This left Dairon alone in the unfamiliar house. They slid their notebook out and pondered. It had been a few days since the stakeout, and their attention had quickly gone elsewhere investigating beacons and traitors.

Still, it was odd that the Shadowhand chose to deal with the Mighty Nein personally. Why would such a reclusive man of private study choose to steward over Beauregard’s rowdy companions? It didn’t seem his forte.

Perhaps he could make friends after all.

* * *

Dairon breathed heavily, leaning against a quartz wall. They could hear loud, clanking footsteps, but they estimated the sound to be perpendicular to where they rested. They shifted downwards, crouching into a position that muffled breathing into their shirt. In this city, silence was key.

The inner sanctum of this library belonged to Den Thelyss. Broad shelves of quartz and rosewood laid in a round chamber, decorated with copper lamps. The desks here resembled the cramped student desks Dairon remembered from their time at the Cobalt Reserve, save for one detail: deep circular carvings dug into the main surface. Glancing around, they saw a book left open, showing arcane sigils in patterns that would fit the desks’ grooves.

A school of magic, clearly.

At the very center of the room was an intricate tripod of brass, standing upright. It seemed to be missing something, but Dairon already knew what. The beacon, one of the Luxon artifacts, the one which had been stolen. Strange, though, that it would be kept here - the other tripods they had spied from afar were all in cloisters of Luxon temples near the bastion, not in some private schoolgrounds.

The Expositor flipped briefly through a few books, hoping to learn something about who might have been taught here, but magic wasn’t their expertise. A teleportation spell here, an odd form of levitation there, notes on memory modification…

The book in their hand started screaming, a guttural wail of confusion. Dairon shut it, but immediately heard the footsteps start to return. With wild instinct, they leapt towards the nearest window and pulled a small tool from their pocket, starting to pry the dark iron bars away.

Finally the window slid, jutting out just enough for Dairon to escape into the dark. They hurried towards the edge of the Firmaments, their mind running even faster than their feet.

In their head, the screaming rang, almost familiar. Almost the same as the sound of a particular screaming prisoner.

* * *

Dairon dropped their cup. A spot of tea spilled out, underlining the name they had just read.

_ Dezran Thain _

The peace accords had come and gone, and news had begun to trickle back to the Cobalt Reserve in Zadash. The Expositor welcomed the familiar soft bustling of the library, and had been taking the time to write up some final official notes, putting an end to the months they had stayed undercover in the Dynasty.

But first, Dairon had been taking a moment to peek through the attendance lists of each vessel in the negotiations. Their curiosity at who, exactly, Beauregard was now rubbing shoulders with couldn’t be helped. But this name, this name…

An intimidating pile of notebooks - their research in Rosohna - towered next to the page in front of them, but Dairon wasn’t daunted by research. They dived in. And, four hours later, the hazy Dwendalian sun setting outside, Dairon found her quarry. A single scribbled note, an impossible task, a transcript of the ramblings of an overheard traitor being carted off for penance.

A realization hit Dairon.

And in their head, a question formed. One question, to ask one individual.

“Did your friend Essek start the war?”


End file.
